" CHAPTER XVIII. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. And yet it was basically a fine action. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. It was perfectly legitimate. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other.
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